


Awkward Conversations

by purplekitte



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Fade to Black, Fluff, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigismund and Dorn slowly dance around each other before getting it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkward Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from [](http://adepta-astarte.tumblr.com/post/90848858131/awkward-conversations>tumblr</a>)

Khârn purred in his ear, ‘Ask me for it. You feel good enough already right where I am.’

Sigismund ground his hips down to get Khârn to moan and prove that despite his teasing words he wasn’t going to last long without losing his patience either. At the sounds he wrung out of his oath-brother, he didn’t mind playing along in return. ‘Harder. Not going to let you fuck me again if you don’t do it right. Gonna leave me unsatisfied?’

Khârn growled, but Sigismund could feel the smirk where he bit his shoulder, keeping their bodies together as he pushed Sigismund out of his lap and onto his back so Khârn was leaning over him without pulling out. He gasped at the jostling as they switched positions; maybe they should have done more thorough preparation, but it would miss half the point to not have the burn of it, the hot jolts of pain down his spine as delicious as a good fight.

‘There you go. You love it rough, you slut. I--’

If they hadn’t been so intent on one another, they should have had more warning before the bulkhead door opened. In their defence, Primarch Dorn seemed just as surprised, from what little Sigismund had learned of reading his expressions, minute and controlled as they were.

Dorn turned and left without a word. Sigismund couldn’t tell if that was better or worse, and hit the back of his head against the deck as the War Hound sympathetically asked if he wanted to grab his armour and run after him or wait to be summoned.

*

‘Do _you_ think you were doing anything wrong, Captain?’

‘No, but...’

‘Should you take my morals as your own just because I say so? Pretend you believe when that is not what you feel to be right and wrong?’

‘You’re my primarch,’ he said weakly, unsure what answer was being looked for, if that were not an improper thing in and of itself.

‘Would you hold yourself to my values even if your profession of them were a lie?’

 _Yes, of course,_ but he said instead, ‘I would try to understand.’

Dorn allowed his evasion, though his piercing gaze gave no doubt he’d seen through all the layers of it, and even allowed the subject to change. ‘As it is, no, my captain, I am not as prudish as I’m sure rumours say. I am not an ancient, superstitious demagogue going on about the sin of fornication. As long as it does not distract from your duties and you and your oath-brother are being responsible about it, I accept your word that you have nothing to be ashamed of.’

Sigismund perked up instinctively at hearing the nature of his relationship with Khârn so acknowledged, even before he’d processed the rest of the information. Sigismund did not known Rogal Dorn well yet, but he knew enough to instantly dismiss the first question that came to mind, _Are you just saying that?_ ‘If you had said otherwise, I would have accepted your judgement. I don’t want you to think me a changeable sycophant, but I wish to trust you above myself, my lord. You are my primarch,’ he repeated. ‘Even if I do not understand yet, it is not my place to question, only my duty to serve.’

Dorn nodded. ‘I take no exception with such a vow either, my son. I know you to be an honourable man who will do your duty. I demand that you obey, but not that you never question when there is time for it. I am not infallible, and a man should understand what he fights for.’

‘I understand.’ He couldn’t resist. ‘So you and your brothers ever...’

Dorn looked like he was about to close off for a moment and Sigismund worried he’d gone too far, but he answered, ‘Not to speak ill of others, but such brothers as I’ve met are more prone to being the source of exasperation I would rather work off. I doubt that getting to know them more intimately would be the cure. It is a personal preference of mine, one I do not think is the only acceptable way or intend to force on others, but I have no interest in physical intimacy without an accompanying emotional intimacy.’

He wouldn’t be so indiscrete as to gossip, but next time Abaddon was bragging about his primarch confiding in him, after decades of waiting Sigismund could finally smirk back.

*

‘Do not feel obligated.’ Dorn said it as a statement of fact, clipped and curt, inviting no argument.

Sigismund hated the way the atmosphere in the room had seemed to change in an instant and backed down in the face of his primarch’s displeasure. ‘I meant no offense; I only sought to aid you.’

‘I don’t doubt your intentions were altruistic, if ill-considered.’

‘Then accept my company like this, at least,’ Sigismund said, and rejoiced he had not caused any lasting harm to their relationship was Dorn allowed him to pour more wine.

Dorn’s quarters were not so spartan as to be an embarrassment to his position as a primarch, but they were not gaudy in their appointment, merely serviceable. The craftsmanship displayed in them was not in baroque designs or ornamentation, but in the highest quality in every line and material of even the simplest of objects. Sigismund did not let himself settle in his chair, however, too intent on studying the lines of his primarch’s face.

The physical injuries of Cheraut had vanished, but the lines around his eyes were deeper, and Sigismund wished whole-heartedly to smooth them away with his thumbs.

‘You are my First Captain.’

Sigismund nodded at the compliment, and compliment it was more than statement of obvious fact. _I chose you. I count on you._ Yet that was the crux of it. Dorn had spoken to him once of sex as a comfort, but the Imperial Fist had rarely enough seen him seek any comfort from another other than Sigismund himself, and that infrequently enough. Certainly not any of the bedroom sort. He had hardly been looking carefully for that in particular over the last century, but the thing about an Astartes memory was that you could look back over things that you hadn’t been paying much attention to at the time. Not other primarchs, not Astartes, not humans. He rarely expressed disapproval at others’ doings, and then only for very specific infractions, not such relationships themselves, but Sigismund had no evidence of him ever having such a thing for himself.

Sigismund had never considered himself wise and diplomatic in conversation, but it would have to do, though he longed to give more.

*

‘Why do you proposition me again when we’ve already had this conversation, Sigismund?’

‘I did not offer to share your bed out of a misplaced sense of duty then or now, my lord. I didn’t correct you before because I was willing to accept it was something you felt to be a luxury you did not need.’ Not now, not after seeing Dorn’s hearts break at Captain Garro’s words.

‘Now that treason is at our door you felt the need to say you know better than your primarch?’

‘If I am wrong, I will accept your rejection and any punishment for impudence I deserve. I only intend to clear away any false pretences between us, that you may turn my comfort away honestly if you don’t desire it. I know it is presumptuous of me, but I feel your need is too great to ignore any longer for the sake of avoiding chastisement. That would be selfish and dishonourable of me.’

‘If not obligation, is it doubt? Do you think I cannot endure and will crumble before these traitors without “outlets”?’ He said the word like a vile curse.

‘Never, my lord. You will endure. Your walls will endure. I ask for my own sake, though I hope I am not so selfish that I do not ask for your sake as well. I love you. It pains me to not give you everything, to see you suffer alone if a loving touch would bring you any succour. I don’t know that I can make you happy, but I want to try.’

Dorn did not relax exactly, but he went thoughtful rather than annoyed. He would give Sigismund his full concentration because he acknowledged how important this had been for the Black Knight to say and he wanted to be sure he was giving the right answer for the right reasons. Sigismund knew this, and said no more. He might clarify a point, but none would move Dorn from his own decisions.

‘I should not have misjudged you so,’ Dorn said eventually. That was all, but he understood all that it said. ‘Come here.’

Sigismund had no memory of crossing the space. He could have floated for all he knew.

Dorn studied him intensely, not rising from his chair so they would be eyelevel, and finally cupped Sigismund’s cheek. Sigismund leaned into it, torn between wanting to take the hand between his own and close his eyes in sheer bliss and not wanting to look away from his primarch’s gaze. He could feel himself break into a smile from the shift of muscle below where their skin met. Dorn’s expression softened further in response, and, like some last question he’d had had been answered, he leaned forward to press their lips together.

It was soft. They were warriors; warm and gentle should be foreign concepts to them, but Sigismund was enjoying it too much to deepen it yet. He wasn’t exactly known for only keeping his flings confined to even people he liked, but this was totally different from adventures in lust and choler. He was loved, deeply and truly, was what it said, and he prayed he was communicating as much in return. He had no doubt at all that they weren’t doing a single thing that was wrong.

Slowly and surely, Sigismund’s grip tightened on his primarch’s shoulders and Dorn’s fingers dug deeper into his face and hair. Dorn nipped at his lips almost playfully, and that was wonderful too. How rarely he could show that side of himself, and how much Sigismund wanted that for him.

‘You want this,’ he muttered, and it sounded like sheer surprise mixed with awe. Had he too worried Dorn was only doing this out of a feeling of obligation, for someone else’s sake?

‘I suppose I do.’ From his tone it was unexpected how true that was, but he wasn’t taken aback. He was resolute, and pleased with the nature of this resolve for once, and it was laced with the beginnings something hot and hungry. Dorn showed no sign of being ashamed of that, nor should he have.

Sigismund was grinning now. Dorn pulled him closer, so he could stand between his spread knees and they could press their bodies together. He could feel the texture of scars though their clothes, the solidity of muscle and bone. He wanted to know what that skin will feel like against his.

Dorn wrapped him in a hug for a moment, another reminder of his affection, then pulled back so they could kiss again. The slide of Dorn’s tongue against his sent shivers through him, and everything about him was too beautiful to take in. He wanted to touch more, but wasn’t sure he was allowed, his hands still wrapped around Dorn’s shoulders. ‘Can I...?’

‘Yes, but wait.’ Sigismund abruptly aborted his half-begun movement and held perfectly still in Dorn’s arms. ‘Let’s go to my bed before we go any further, so we can do this properly.’

Not that Sigismund wouldn’t have crawled into Dorn’s lap right there and never left the chair, but he understood the intent. This wasn’t a desperate and wild copulation, all hormones and deadlines, a last kiss or grateful reunion. This was something to be done right, and they had the chance and the desire to do so. They could explore each other, begin to scratch the surface of learning how to give each other pleasure, and accomplish it.

It took a force of will to take a step back so Dorn could rise and they could walk together. Stopping to make out or grope as they went along wasn’t the Imperial Fist way, too undisciplined and undignified, but Dorn maintained the continuity of connection by keeping Sigismund’s hand in his.

He’d been in Dorn’s bedroom before, to give him a report while his armour was being fitted or whatnot, but never like this. He’d never sat on his bed next to him, his primarch leaning down to kiss him. Pressing him down into soft blankets.

Dorn pulled back to stare at him, his gaze like a caress, like counting someone’s limbs on a battlefield to make absolutely sure they were in one piece. Sigismund couldn’t have possibly described all the emotion held in it, or that he felt in return. ‘I love you,’ he said simply.

Dorn smiled, he _smiled_ , like he hadn’t in months, like he hadn’t since the news came, and never a smile like that. Sigismund pulled him down to him as he drowned in it.


End file.
